Unmasked
by heisey
Summary: How Brett Mahoney might discover Matt is Daredevil, and what might happen after that. Mostly character and legal stuff, for those who like that kind of thing. Post-Daredevil season 3.
1. Chapter 1

_Chapter 1_

 _Brett_

The radio in Detective Sergeant Brett Mahoney's unmarked car crackled. "Man down, in the alley off 40th Street, south side, west of 10th." The location was a block away. Mahoney called in to report he was responding. A minute later, he pulled to the curb and got out of the car. He shined his flashlight into the alley, which looked deserted. Then he saw it: a figure, dressed in all black, lying on his back next to a set of overflowing garbage cans. He wasn't moving. As Mahoney came closer, he noticed something else: a black mask covering the top half of the man's face.

"Holy shit!" Mahoney thought. "It's him – Daredevil or the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, or whatever he's calling himself these days." He pulled on a pair of gloves and approached the man cautiously. Mahoney checked for a pulse and found one. Good. He could see the man's chest moving up and down. He was breathing. But he didn't react when Mahoney touched him to check his pulse. So, unconscious. Mahoney swept the beam from his flashlight over the man's body and noticed blood pooling beneath him. He pulled out his radio and called for a bus. Then he reached out and carefully removed the man's mask. He turned his flashlight on the man's face. He was looking at the face of Matt Murdock.

Mahoney recoiled in shock. "What the fuck?" he thought. It didn't make any sense. Murdock was blind. Wasn't he? Of course he was. Mahoney had grown up in Hell's Kitchen, like Murdock and his law partner, Foggy Nelson. They all knew the story of Battlin' Jack Murdock and his son who was blinded in a freak accident, then orphaned when Jack was murdered. But there was no way a blind man could do what Daredevil did. Or was there?

Not sure why he was doing it, Mahoney bent over and picked up Murdock's mask, then stuffed it in his pocket. As he stood up, the ambulance arrived. Two paramedics hurried to Murdock's side and began examining and stabilizing him. When one of them reported, "Pupils non-reactive to light," Mahoney spoke up.

"He's blind."

The paramedic looked over at him, surprised. "What? You know this guy?"

"Yeah. Name's Matthew Murdock. He's a local attorney."

"What the hell was he doing here?"

Mahoney shrugged. "No idea."

When the paramedics had Murdock ready for transport, Mahoney followed them out of the alley. "Where're you taking him?" he asked as they lifted the gurney into the ambulance.

"Metro-General."

"OK. Thanks, guys. See you there."

Mahoney watched the ambulance drive away, then pulled out his phone and made a call.

"Franklin Nelson."

"Nelson, this is Brett Mahoney."

"Hey, Brett."

"I found your partner in an alley. He's on his way to the ER at Metro-General. Meet me there." Mahoney ended the call without giving Foggy a chance to ask him any questions.

During the short drive to the hospital, Mahoney considered his options. If Murdock really was Daredevil – as far-fetched as that seemed – where did that leave him? He was a police officer, for chrissake, sworn to uphold the law. Daredevil was a vigilante, a lawbreaker. But there was no evidence he was breaking the law tonight. He looked more like a crime victim than a criminal. What about all the other nights? The people Daredevil helped sure weren't clamoring for the police to stop him, and the criminals he beat up weren't about to call the cops on him. They had their own ways of delivering justice. Then there was Daredevil's role, not to mention Murdock's and Nelson's, in putting away Wilson Fisk – twice. He wasn't the only cop who felt the NYPD owed them one. Still undecided, he pulled into the ER parking lot.

 _Foggy_

"Oh, shit," Foggy thought. It had finally hit the fan. Matt was on his way to the hospital, injured. Mahoney hadn't said how badly. Asshole. He must have discovered Matt's secret. And Foggy had no clue what Mahoney was going to do about it. His stomach churned.

He knew this day would come eventually. He stared at his phone's screen but found no answers there. He put the phone back in his pocket. He needed a strategy, a legal strategy. Well, it wasn't as if he hadn't thought about what to do when it happened. He doubted he could be charged as an accomplice to whatever crimes Matt may have committed. Yes, he knew, generally speaking, what Matt was doing as Daredevil, and he hadn't stopped him – as if he could. But that didn't make him an accomplice in the eyes of the law. Still, a jury might be persuaded he'd taken a more active role, given their long friendship. Or the DA could try charging him and Matt with conspiracy. And even if he didn't have any criminal exposure, the licensing board would definitely take a dim view of his partnership with a known vigilante.

He and Matt counseled their clients in criminal cases not to talk to the cops. An experienced interrogator – and the NYPD had many of them – could easily trick even an innocent person into making damaging admissions. He would follow his own advice, at least until he found out what Mahoney knew, and he had a chance to talk to Matt.

He opened the bedroom door a crack. Marci was asleep. Good. He closed the door gently. He sent her a short text, before he grabbed his jacket and headed for the door.

Once he arrived at the hospital, Foggy talked his way into the treatment area and eventually found the room where Matt was being treated. Mahoney was standing just outside the door.

"How is he?" Foggy demanded.

"Still out. They're working on him," Mahoney replied curtly. He jerked his head to the right and headed down the hall. Foggy followed him to an empty treatment room. After Foggy shut the door behind them, Mahoney pulled Matt's mask out of his pocket and tossed it to Foggy, who caught it reflexively. "How long have you known?" Mahoney demanded.

"Assumes facts not in evidence."

"Cut the crap, Nelson. I'm not in the mood for your bullshit."

"Am I under arrest?"

"No."

"Is Matt?"

"Not for anything that went down tonight."

"That's not an answer." Foggy put the mask in his pocket, then stood with his arms folded across his chest.

Following up on his original question, Mahoney asked, "So you're telling me, what, he made a fool of you for – how long? Years?"

"Same objection." Foggy tried to keep a poker face, hoping his expression didn't give away how close to home the question hit. Before Mahoney could ask another question, they heard the sounds of a commotion from down the hall, in the direction of Matt's room. Foggy turned and ran out of the room. Mahoney followed him. When they reached Matt's room, Matt was struggling to get out of bed, while a man and a woman were struggling to keep him there.

" _Matt! Stop!"_ Foggy yelled.

Matt stopped fighting and turned his head toward Foggy's voice. "Fog?" he mumbled. "Where?"

"You're in the hospital, buddy," Foggy told him. "You're injured. Chill out and let them help you." He added, in a whisper only Matt could hear, "It's OK, they don't know." He'd deal with the fact that Mahoney _did_ know, but later, when Matt was more coherent.

The man who had been struggling with Matt – a middle-aged, balding Asian man with "T. Nguyen, M.D." embroidered on his dark blue scrubs – turned to look at Foggy. "Who are you?"

"Franklin Nelson, his law partner – and his attorney."

"You're not family?"

"I'm the closest thing to family he has. And I have his medical power of attorney."

"OK," Dr. Nguyen replied, then turned to Matt and asked, "Mr. Murdock, can you tell me what happened to you tonight?" the doctor asked.

Foggy stepped in before Matt could answer. "I'm sorry, doctor, but I can't let you question my client with this officer present." He glared at Mahoney, who glared back.

"Detective, please – " the doctor began.

Mahoney stalked out of the room. Foggy made sure the door was closed. "OK, doctor, ask your questions."

"Mr. Murdock, I'm Dr. Nguyen, you're in the Emergency Department at Metro-General. You've been stabbed, and you have a concussion. Do you understand?"

Matt nodded. "Um-hmm."

"Can you tell me what happened to you tonight?"

"Jumped me. Two, three. Shoulda known. Stupid." Matt fell back onto the pillow, breathing heavily.

"Did you hit your head, or did someone hit you in the head?"

"Don't remember."

"Do you remember being stabbed?"

Matt nodded. "Yeah."

"Do you know what with?"

"Nuh."

"OK," Dr. Nguyen said. "We'll let you rest now." He left to see other patients, after promising to come back later and check on Matt. Not long after that, two orderlies arrived to take Matt for a CT scan. Foggy followed, not trusting Brett not to try to question Matt when he was in Radiology. Brett was waiting outside the treatment room when they returned.

"Can we talk?" he asked.

"OK," Foggy replied and followed him a few steps down the hall.

"Look, Foggy, I'm not trying to jam you up, you and Matt," Brett began. "No one in Hell's Kitchen – least of all me – has forgotten that the two of you took down Wilson Fisk. But I'm having a hard time wrapping my head around all this. What's the deal with Matt? I need you to help me out here."

Foggy sighed. "It's not my call, Brett. It's Matt's story to tell, if he decides to tell it. I'll talk to him about it, but not now. He's still pretty concussed. I'm guessing they'll want to keep him overnight for observation."

"Yeah, probably so," Brett replied. "I'll come back in the morning. But then I want some answers. You staying with him?"

"Yeah," Foggy said. "I'm not going anywhere."


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter 2_

 _Matt_

Sounds. Too many sounds. Underwater. Can't. Focus. Lost time. Head hurts. Side hurts. Where? "Get up, Matty." Hands pushing, grabbing. People talking at him. No. _No._ Go away. Another voice. Foggy? More talking. "They don't know." What happened? Got jumped. Two, three. Shoulda known. Stupid. Don't remember. Lost time.

Matt woke up slowly. Something was wrong. He was somewhere that wasn't his apartment. Rough, scratchy fabric next to his skin. Definitely not his own bed. The sounds were all wrong: people talking, lots of them, footsteps, phones ringing, liquids dripping, wheels clacking on hard floors, electronic beeps, someone sobbing, a sudden scream. And the smells weren't right, either: blood, salt, sweat, plastic, urine and feces, something rotten, chemical smells, disinfectant. What the hell?

Someone was there. With difficulty, he focused. Foggy. He should have noticed him before, but his brain was . . . sluggish. "Foggy?" he croaked. His mouth was dry.

"I'm here, buddy," Foggy said from across the room. "You're in the hospital. You got stabbed. And you have a concussion."

Damn. He couldn't be in a hospital. He tried to pull himself up to a sitting position. Stabbing pains in his right side and his head said that was a bad idea. He fell back onto the bed. "You gotta get me outta here, Fog."

"I will." Foggy walked over to the bedside table and poured a cup of water. He put the cup in Matt's hand and guided his other hand to a straw. "Drink this. You must be parched."

"Thanks." Matt drank. "What happened?"

"You don't remember?"

Matt shook his head and winced. "Not really. Things are kind of fuzzy."

"Looks like you were jumped by some guys in an alley. And – " Foggy hesitated. His heart rate increased slightly. He was thinking about lying. Then his heart rate slowed. He took a deep breath before he said, "Brett Mahoney found you and brought you in."

"He knows?"

Foggy nodded.

Shit. They were fucked. He pushed back against the fear that was rising in his gut. He started to get out of bed, ignoring the pain in his head and his side. Wait a minute. No handcuffs. "This isn't the jail ward."

"No," Foggy confirmed. "You're not under arrest, not for whatever happened last night. I don't think Brett knows what he's going to do about – you know. He wants to talk to you first. He said he'd come back this morning."

"No, no, it's too soon," Matt told him. He rubbed his temples. "My head has to be clear when I talk to him. Can you buy me some time?"

"I'll try," Foggy said doubtfully, pulling out his phone.

As he listened to Foggy persuade Mahoney to delay the interview, Matt thought, "Damn, he's good." He only hoped Foggy knew it.

"OK," Foggy said. "It's set for tomorrow afternoon at the office. But I guess you heard, right?" He picked up the visitor's chair and moved it next to the bed, then sat down.

"Yeah. I heard." Matt thought for a minute. "Where's Karen?"

"She's in Atlanta, trying to track down that witness in _Millman_."

"Oh, right, right."

"I decided not to call her last night. If she knew you were in the hospital, she would have gotten on the first red-eye, and there was really nothing for her to do here. We need her to find that witness more than we need her here – assuming we still have a practice after tomorrow."

"Good call. Now can we get outta here?"

"Sit tight," Foggy replied. "I'll see if I can find someone who can spring you."

Despite Foggy's best efforts, getting Matt released from the hospital took longer than either of them could have imagined. Matt was on the verge of leaving AMA when a nurse appeared with the discharge paperwork and take-home meds. It was mid-afternoon by the time they finally arrived at Matt's apartment. Matt sat on the couch, wrapped in the blanket (a red, gray, and white plaid, he'd been told) that was usually draped over the back of the couch. Foggy sat in a chair across from him, drinking a beer. Matt had to settle for water. "No booze for you, buddy," Foggy had decreed.

Once he had escaped the hospital's sensory onslaught, Matt felt the haze start to lift from his mind. His headache even seemed to be better. And his memory was coming back. "I remember how I ended up in that alley, where you said Brett found me," he told Foggy. "I was tracking a couple of gun dealers, new guys who moved in when Turk Barrett went uptown. But I got distracted and wasn't paying attention. That's why I got jumped. I was stupid." He shook his head and winced.

What he didn't tell Foggy was why he was distracted. Earlier that evening, on his way home from work, he caught a whiff of a scent like Karen's – lavender with a hint of citrus. Later, when he was tracking the gun dealers, he smelled something that reminded him of that scent. He thought of Karen, wondering if he would ever be able to persuade her to give him another chance. He only lost his focus for a few seconds, but it was all the gun dealers needed to take him by surprise.

"That's good, Matt," Foggy said. "Not that you got jumped. I mean it's good that your memory's coming back." He finished his beer and set the empty bottle down on the table in front of him. "So . . . I've been thinking, maybe we should just hire ourselves a couple of good lawyers and let them handle things."

Matt shifted uncomfortably and groaned softly. His hand went to the stab wound on his side. "I don't think so. They'll tell us not to talk, but if we stonewall Brett, it could provoke him into doing something we'll all regret, including Brett. It'll just make things worse. And I don't want two more people knowing about me, not even our own lawyers."

"You got a better idea?"

"Maybe. But I'm not ready to talk about it. I have to think it through first."

Foggy shrugged. "OK, I guess," he said skeptically.

"You know, Fog," Matt said, "You don't have to hang around. I'm good on my own."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

"Actually, I probably should swing by the office," Foggy thought out loud, "and make sure there aren't any fires I need to put out." He put on his jacket and headed for the door. "I'll stop by later."

"OK," Matt said. "And thanks, man – for everything."

After Foggy left, Matt stretched out on the couch, reviewing his encounters with Brett Mahoney, both as Matt Murdock and as Daredevil. Step by step, a plan took shape in his mind. Then he tested his idea, running through the possible scenarios to see how they would play out. It might just work, he thought, as he fell asleep.

* * *

"Hey, Brett." Foggy greeted the detective when he arrived at the room above Nelson's Meats that was the temporary office of Nelson & Murdock. It was the afternoon of the day after Matt's discharge from the hospital.

Matt put on his glasses and stood up when he heard Mahoney arrive. He extended his hand. "Brett." After they shook, Matt turned to Foggy. "Why don't you get yourself a cup of coffee or something? I need to speak with Brett alone."

"You're sure about that?" Foggy asked. Matt heard the doubt in his voice.

"It's OK, Fog. I got this." When he heard Foggy's steps fade away, Matt turned to Mahoney. "Please, sit," he said, gesturing in the direction of a table in the center of the room.

Mahoney took a seat. "How you doing, man? You were in pretty rough shape the other night."

Matt sat across from him. "Better, thanks."

With the pleasantries out of the way, Mahoney got to the point. "Listen, Matt, like I told Foggy at the hospital, I'm not looking to jam you guys up. I just want some answers."

That, at least, was true. Mahoney's heartbeat didn't change. "And you'll get them. I haven't forgotten what you did for Karen and for Ray Nadeem and his family. And I'm grateful. But your . . . discovery, it complicates things. You know that."

"No shit," Mahoney muttered.

"I just want to be sure we understand each other."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Matt chose his words carefully. He didn't want Mahoney to get the wrong idea. Finally, he said, "I know you know I'm Daredevil. You can expose me anytime you want. But if you do, you need to be prepared for the questions you're gonna get."

Mahoney scoffed. "What questions?"

"For one thing, the questions about all the times you let me walk away. Like when I stopped Wilson Fisk after he escaped from custody. Or when I handed Frank Castle over to you and told you to take the collar. Or when I walked out of Fisk's penthouse. You think people won't ask questions about that? And about how you got your promotion, _Detective?"_

"You – " Mahoney began. His heart rate and adrenaline level were beginning to rise.

Matt ignored him and kept talking. "And what about the time you let Foggy, Karen and me see Castle, when no one was supposed to get in? Then there's the fact that my law partner – Daredevil's law partner – happens to be one Franklin Nelson, someone you've known since you were a kid. Kinda looks like Daredevil has a friend in the NYPD, doesn't it?"

"You'd do that? Bring up all of that stuff?" Mahoney asked.

"Not me." Matt shook his head. "I promise you I won't say a word about any of it. But I won't need to. We aren't the only ones who know about these things. Other people know. They'll do the asking."

"Not if I'm the one who outs you," Mahoney pushed back.

"It doesn't work like that. Shine the spotlight on me, you shine it on yourself. People will see a vigilante and the crooked cop who looked the other way, even helped him. They'll see one bad guy who turned on another bad guy."

"Damn you, Murdock," Mahoney snarled, slamming a hand down on the table. He started to stand up, then fell back down into his chair. "You set me up."

Matt chuckled mirthlessly. "You're giving me way too much credit, Brett. This is on you." He leaned forward, pointing a finger at Brett. _"Your_ decisions, _your_ choices. All I'm doing is providing a reality check. Because we both lose if you decide to tell the world I'm Daredevil."

"So, what, you keep doing the Daredevil thing, and I'm supposed to turn a blind eye?"

"That a joke, Detective?" Matt asked, smirking.

"There's nothing funny about any of this," Brett shot back. He stood up and stalked to the far end of the room. "I'm a police officer, Goddamnit!"

Matt rubbed his temples, then turned toward Mahoney. "Look, Brett, there are people out there who are beyond your reach. The NYPD can't stop them. I can. As long as people like that are preying on Hell's Kitchen, you need Daredevil. You know that. It's why you let me walk away, all those times."

"And if you get caught – by someone else, I mean?"

Matt stood up and walked to the window. He leaned against the windowsill, as if he was looking out. "Then I'm fucked." He shrugged, then turned around. "I won't rat you out, if that's what you're worried about."

"God _damn,"_ Mahoney swore. But his heartbeat and breathing were slowing down. "You're a real piece of work, Murdock. Does Nelson know what a cold son of a bitch you are?" He walked back to the table and stood next to it, gripping the back of a chair.

Matt nodded. Foggy knew, all right. Foggy had seen him at his worst.

"Nelson's too good for you. You don't deserve a friend like him."

"You're right. I don't," Matt agreed. And Foggy didn't deserve the shit storm that would come down on him if Mahoney decided to tell the world. "So – we good?"

Mahoney sat down and leaned back with his arms folded across his chest. Matt could almost sense his mind working as he processed everything Matt had told him. "Yeah. We're good. I guess," he finally said. "But now I want some answers."

Matt left his place by the window and sat down at the table again. "Go ahead." He waved his hand. "Ask your questions."

"Are you really blind?" Mahoney blurted out.

Matt sighed wearily. It was always the first question. "Yes."

"But how – "

Matt interrupted him. He didn't need to hear the rest of the question. "In the accident, when I was a kid, the chemicals that blinded me affected my other senses."

"Affected them how?"

"Enhanced them, made them sharper, more acute. Because of that, I can do some things – not everything, but a lot of things – as if I can see. Some things I can even do better."

"What kind of things?"

"I know where things are – people, too – and their size and shape and when they move, even if they're behind me."

"Must come in handy in a fight," Mahoney commented.

"It does."

"So how's that work? Some kind of superpower?"

Matt shook his head and chuckled. "No, there's nothing magical about it. It's similar to something called 'echolocation.' Basically, the sounds bouncing off things tell you where they are." He snapped his fingers. "Other blind people can do it. But I'm better at it. My hearing's better, much better. And my other senses are better, too. I get a lot of information from them – changes in air currents, temperature, smells, things like that. It all fits together to tell me what I need to know."

"Your hearing's really that good?" Mahoney asked skeptically.

"It is. I can hear people's heartbeats from across the room. And their heartbeats tell me when they're lying."

"A useful skill for a lawyer," Mahoney observed dryly.

"You could say that," Matt agreed with a half smile.

"So the white cane, that's just for show?" Mahoney asked.

"Yep. The fewer people who know about me, the better."

"How many people know?"

"Not many. It's dangerous for people to know."

Mahoney challenged him. "Dangerous for you, you mean."

"That's true," Matt conceded. "But it's also dangerous for them – and for you, now. There are people out there who will stop at nothing to find out who Daredevil is."

Mahoney fell silent for a moment. "But the way you fight – that's not only your senses."

"No. I learned to fight when I was a kid, after my dad died. An old blind guy taught me."

"When you were living at the orphanage?"

"Yeah. The nuns had no idea."

Mahoney shook his head. "Unbelievable." He paused for a beat, then asked, "So what happened the other night?"

Matt stood up and walked to the end of the table, then turned in Mahoney's direction. "You know those gun dealers, the new ones who showed up after Turk moved uptown?"

Mahoney nodded. "Yeah."

"I was following them, thinking they might lead me to where they keep the guns. But I let myself get distracted. They were on me before I knew it. One of 'em stabbed me, then another one got lucky and knocked me out before I could fight back." He frowned. "Honestly, I'm not even sure it was the gun dealers who jumped me. Maybe it was just a random street crime – a poor blind guy getting mugged in an alley." He gave a bitter laugh.

"Damn," Mahoney muttered.

Matt sat down again, across the table from Mahoney. He pressed his lips together and thought for a minute. "You know, Brett, I thought you might have figured it out – that I'm Daredevil, I mean – or at least suspected."

"Now _you're_ giving _me_ too much credit." Brett chuckled. "I always thought there was something familiar about Daredevil, but I never would have guessed it was you in that mask. Being blind, it's the perfect cover story."

"Yeah. It is."

The two men sat across from each other in silence for a few minutes. Brett pulled out his phone and looked at it, then put it back in his pocket. Matt fiddled with a stapler someone had left on the table. Then he noticed a change in Brett's breathing. He was going to say something.

"You know, I didn't join the NYPD to hand out 'get out of jail free' cards," he said.

"I know," Matt replied, "and I'm not asking you to."

"Maybe not," Mahoney countered, "but you _are_ asking me to keep your secret."

"I am."

Mahoney got up and walked over to the window. He stood there, looking out, for several minutes. Finally he said, "I don't like this."

"You don't have to like it, just know you're doing the right thing."

"But am I?" Mahoney asked, as if to himself. "It sure doesn't feel like it. I'm an officer of the law. So are you."

"And we both know the law has limits. There are things the law can't fix, people it can't stop. For them, you need me. The Kitchen needs me."

Mahoney stood up and walked over to the window again. "Maybe," he said.

"Damn," Matt thought, "I'm losing him." He tried to ignore the knot forming in his stomach. He got up from his chair and took a few steps toward Mahoney, then stopped. "Why'd you become a cop, Brett?"

Mahoney turned around. "To keep the Kitchen safe. Safe from people like the ones who murdered your dad."

The cold-blooded reminder of his father's murder was like a sucker punch to the gut. Matt took a step back, holding onto a chair to steady himself. When he regained his composure, he took a deep breath and counterpunched. "And the NYPD never caught them. That's why you need me."

"Fair enough."

"Look, Brett, I don't want to fight you. We both want the same thing."

"I know that, but I'm not sure you're going about it the right way."

Matt thought for a minute. "I was given certain . . . gifts. I was given them for a reason."

"What kind of reason? You mean it was, like, God's plan or something?"

"Don't go all theological on me, Brett." Matt gave a half smile before he got serious again. "But, yes, something like that."

"So what's the plan?"

"I have to believe there was a purpose behind my gifts and – " he gestured toward his eyes " – what happened to me. It took me a long time to figure it out. But I know my purpose now: helping the people you can't help, keeping the Kitchen safe from the men – and women – you can't touch. I can do things you can't. Let me do them."

"It's that simple, huh?"

"Basically, yes." Mahoney turned away from him and looked out the window. Minutes passed. Matt could sense he was coming to a decision. Finally Mahoney turned around.

"OK," he said. "We'll try it your way. What does that look like?"

"You do your job, and I do mine – both of them." Matt held out his hand. "Deal?"

Mahoney took it. "Deal."

* * *

 _Author's Note:_ Human echolocation has been known and studied formally since the 1940s. For more on Daredevil and echolocation, see chapter 9 of _Daredevil Psychology: The Devil You Know_ , edited by Travis Langley, and the multiple posts on the subject at "The Other Murdock Papers."


End file.
